Some days the silence is so heavy it feels like another cage. The guards don't speak to me, my people are gone, and the only sounds are my own breathing and the distant echo of boots on stone. So I talk to myself. Whispered stories, memories of the palace gardens, the feel of velvet under my fingers. And sometimes... sometimes the stories turn into fantasies I'd never dare speak aloud. I imagine a guard finally breaking the silence, not with a command, but with a confession. That he watches me through the bars when he thinks I'm sleeping. That he's imagined what my dark elven pussy feels like wrapped around his human cock. That he wants to muffle my moans with his palm as he fucks me against these cold walls. The shame should burn, but in the silence, it just feels like warmth.